2003-07-31 - 3:54 p.m.
Ain't nothing but a thing
I went to the doctor today, and as she was examining my lady-bits, she said, "Wow, you're pretty bruised up down here!" I told her about the bike ride. But for a brief and shining moment, I thought about looking at her guiltily and saying, "My boyfriend likes to hit me in the crotch with a bat."
So, yeah, Alton Brown. That receding hairline, those glasses, his whole “can do” attitude? Grrowwl. I mean, he freezes strawberries with freaking dry ice, you think he’s going to be satisfied with the missionary? Yeah. I’m just saying.
Ladies, please tell me, how can you be so beautiful and yet so bananas?
Someone do his best to ruin your life? Honey, fuck the mailman and slit your wrists. Just never raise your voice. Only crazy women do that.
Yesterday I spent all day long in an efficiency workshop.
He was trying to tell me he was "STUCK". His leg was all twisted down the side of the chair like a corkscrew. I easily could have given him polio. I'm such a horrible father. But hey, at least he learned a new word. But for the time being and until further notice ... we must check the kid's appendages when he starts rambling loudly about ducks.
'My dad once took me to a move when I was ten,' Josh said. 'It was Passover and we weren't allowed to eat popcorn. That popcorn smelled like God to me. God was right there and he was begging us to eat him.'
Oh, wait, I'm sorry, did I say women? I'm sorry, I meant the two eyelash-batting, more-make-up-than-Gene-Simmons-wearing, let's-see-how-far-our-asses-can-hang-out-of-our-shorts-oh-wait-it-doesn't-matter-to-us-because-we're WHORES. My mistake.
Trannys are kind of like centaurs, the half-man half-horse creature. Except the man part is on the bottom, and the horse is a woman. Wow, that really sounds wrong.
From Trancejen (Submitted by Lori):
I would prefer that my waxer be professional. Somehow the idea of someone in a Nascar t-shirt slapping hot wax near my hoo-hah while picking her teeth and chewing tobacco puts me off a little.
I saw a tea that advertised "Approved by the Minister of Satisfaction" or something. I checked into it and there is no minister of satisfaction. Yet he's going around approving things? Something is fishy. I think the Minister of Satisfaction is going to have an informal meeting with the Minister of Getting Your Ass Kicked, and it just so happens that I elected myself to that position.
So I was supposed to go to a Cook-Out at the home of my ex-boss tomorrow, but if I want to feel bored and uncomfortable I'll stick a hairbrush up my ass and read the sports page.
"I Wanna Be Sedated" is right next to "I Can't Go For That"? The Ramones and Hall & Oates. Okay, whatever. But "Hot In Herre"? What the hell? How can that be a greatest song? It was written five minutes ago and, oh yeah, it sucks!
There is absolutely no one that hates the general public more than me. I swear if “from Justin to Kelly” opens at number one at the box office, I’m going to carve out someone’s liver with a bottle opener.
ATTENTION! ATTENTION! Hell has frozen over! Even if you don't believe in it, hell, the fiery underworld is now officially cold. And icy. Let's go ice skating.
While eating an apple earlier, I found only half of a worm. I haven't felt right ever since.
'Yo, Court, pedophile at 3 o'clock' I said. 'But it's 2:30,' she said, looking down at her watch.
What I need is an assistant. Or a small pony. Something with wheels. A small assistant pony with wheels.